A Willingness of the Heart
by emotional-static
Summary: ."Don't go down there! He's ghastly! They call him 'The Butcher!" A young English woman returns to America to pay a final visit to her dying grandmother, but wants nothing to do with the handsome Colonel Tavington that her grandmother is so fond of.


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A/N: This is my first attempt at venturing out into 'The Patriot' fan fiction. I guess I've been motivated by what I've seen on here to try my hand at it, so go easy on me with the reviews. I'm not a historian, but have studied the Revolutionary War period before, although I can't say I paid too much attention in my US History class in my sophomore year of high school. I'm a senior now, so as you can tell, it's been a few years since then. =]

Yes, this will eventually turn into a Tavington/original female character romance. Yes, I'm aware it's been done before, but I'm going to try and put my own original spin on it. No, my original female character will not be captured by him (although I've read some damn good stories about that!).I've been trying desperately to figure out the damn timeline of the movie itself, because it does seem quite jumpy at times, aside from looking into the time of major battles and skirmishes.

This piece is set a few months before the battle of Camden, which took place on August 16, 1780.

Other than that, enjoy, read on, and feel free to leave me a review.

Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Patriot' or it's characters, etc. No infringement intended.

--Mari

**A Willingness of the Heart**

_"France was a land, England was a people, but America having about it still that quality of idea, was harder to utter--it was the graves at Shiloh and the tired, drawn, nervous faces of its great men, and the country boys dying in the Argonne for a phrase that was empty before their bodies withered. It was a willingness of the heart."_

_ --- F. Scott Fitzgerald, 'The Crack-Up'_

__

_June 1780_

"We must have gone off the trail somewhere."

Colonel William Tavington turned halfway around in his saddle, moving the reins to his other gloved hand. Already heavily irritated with the scorching South Carolina sun and a routine patrol gone awry, he had little patience left to tolerate Captain James Wilkins' comments.

Captain John Bordon chuckled and shook his head. "I believe he's right."

Tavington sighed and looked around with impatience. Somehow, the three men found themselves in between two cornfields with nothing but a barren, dirt road stretching out in front of them. How they had gotten so lost was beyond all of them, as they had gone down this trails many times. "This is a ridiculous waste of my time."

Bordon wiped at the back of his neck with a handkerchief that he had pulled out of his uniform pocket. "Well, at least the corn might be edible."

Wilkins coaxed his horse along, eyes darting from side to side. Even in the middle of nowhere, an outbreak of rebel militia could always be expected. "Do you smell that?"

"Wilkins, you are trying my damn patience," Tavington snarled, shooting a glare at the younger man. "But yes, what is that?"

"A smokehouse," Wilkins offered promptly. "Venison or beef. Most likely venison. Which means that there is a plantation nearby, and that means—"

"That we could get directions and our bearings," Bordon grinned. "As well as a good meal. I don't know about you, but I feel like I haven't eaten in days."

"I suppose anything is better than wandering around in this infernal, blasted heat." The dirt path forked, and Tavington glanced backwards to Wilkins. "Lead the way, then. It seems you know these back roads better than I do or ever will want to know."

"Come on, Will," Bordon cheerily said, cuffing his companion on the shoulder. "You're in a right fine mood this afternoon."

"Agreed," Wilkins said, forcing a small smile. "This way." He moved his head in the direction of the forked path, and he and Bordon trotted along side by side. It wasn't until several moments later when the two men realized that Tavington was paused at the end of the fork, several yards behind them.

"Come off it, Colonel," Bordon sighed. "What are you waiting for?"

A short smile, quite uncharacteristic of the Colonel, played on Tavington's lips. "It's Lady Anne Wilson's plantation ahead, gentleman."

Wilkins grinned. "We're in for a right fine meal if that's true." He motioned ahead to Bordon. "I'd say Anne's plantation lies about two miles ahead."

Lady Anne Catherine Wilson's plantation was a fine landmark for the three tired and hungry British soldiers indeed. An ardent Loyalist, the widowed Anne was an elderly woman in her early seventies that often harbored wounded British soldiers from time to time, which was exactly how Tavington and Bordon had come upon her. Two years beforehand, both had been injured in a skirmish around the area and had been taken in by the gracious Anne and made it a regular habit to pay a visit whenever they had the opportunity to pass through. Her fine cooking had many of the British outfits coming around weekly, and the former Mrs. Wilson certainly never lacked for visitors.

Bordon laughed out loud when he realized that Wilkins was correct about Anne Wilson's plantation. "Do you remember, Will, when you were so sick and feverish after your injury that you were right complaining about everything? Lady Wilson certainly put you in your place. She told you that you best mind your smart mouth and respect your elders or she'd toss you in the cornfield where you could suffer in peace!"

Both Wilkins and Bordon shared a laugh over this. Tavington didn't seem quite as amused.

"Yes, I remember," he replied through gritted teeth. "However, seeing as I'm in a right fine mood today as you said, you best keep your bloody comments to yourself."

"Live a little, Will," Bordon chuckled again. "I wonder how she's been faring lately."

Wilkins gave his horse a slight nudge and coaxed him along. "Julia told me that she's housing her four grandchildren all alone in that house with her, as sick as she is," referring to his young wife. "Rebel father went off and died on them all."

"What the hell for?" Bordon questioned. "I do remember her talking about them at one time."

"Then you don't know the entire story."

Tavington, although bored and irritated, seemed to take interest in gossip revolving around the kind but sarcastic elderly woman he had grown quite fond of. "Go on."

Wilkins nodded. "Anne Wilson and her late husband James Wilson have two middle aged sons, Charles and Patrick."

"Yes," Tavington droned. "I remember her mentioning them. If I remember correctly, one is a Loyalist and the other is a rebel."

Wilkins, mind as sharp as ever, began to add to the tale. "You remember correct. Anne and her husband left London somewhere around the winter of 1747 with their youngest son Patrick. They settled on the outskirts of the Santee. For what reason they left, I'm not too sure of. Something about her husband's sister begging them to come out to America for years. There's a six-year age difference between Charles and Patrick, and Charles wished to stay behind in London, because he was courting a woman and was practicing to become a lawyer. He was twenty at the time."

Bordon nodded. "Right! You remember it better than I do."

"Charles is the Loyalist, and Patrick is the rebel then," Tavington concluded. He wiped a bit of sweat off his brow before dropping his hand down to rest on his thigh.

"Right," Wilkins agreed. "Charles eventually married and became a well known lawyer. He had one daughter, Margaret, who must be somewhere around twenty by now, if I'm not mistaken."

"Why only one?" Tavington questioned. Although he knew Anne Wilson quite well, the details of her family life had become somewhat blurry since his last visit.

Bordon sipped at the last drops of water from his canteen. "Charles' wife died from the fever when the girl was two, thus leaving him to raise the child on his own."

Wilkins nodded. "Charles and Patrick never agreed on anything after Anne came to South Carolina. Rarely spoke for years. Their political differences got the best of them. Charles paid a visit to America with his young daughter, but got into it terribly with Patrick and left soon after. Broke his mother's heart."

"Indeed," Tavington said, holding back a yawn. The trees had thinned out some, and they now appeared to be riding along the outer edge of a tobacco field.

Bordon picked up the tale from here. "Patrick married of course and had damn near six children, I'd say. His wife died in childbirth with the last one, a girl. He eventually picked up with that damn militia of Benjamin Martin's—"

"Wonderful," Tavington scoffed. "I do hope I get the chance to go after him myself."

"Too late," Wilkins said. "He's already dead. Julia tells me he died just this past January in some sort of confrontation with our soldiers, along with his eldest son. Another son is off fighting as well. The remaining four had remained in Anne's care throughout the war, but after the news of their father's death, she took over their care somewhat permanently, although she probably won't last long herself. She's been sick for over a year now, and who knows what will happen to those children after she's gone."

"They've got no surviving kin in the area. Old James Wilson's been dead for three years now, and his sister's been gone for even longer. Now with Anne Wilson on her last legs, the only other solution is to send those children off to England to stay with Charles Wilson himself, and I'm sure that will just be a smack in the face for him," Bordon chuckled.

"Yes," Tavington replied dryly. "What of the girl? Margaret?"

"Charles' daughter is probably married herself by now."

The group fell silent as the plantation finally came into view. It was a large home, with various smaller buildings along the back and sides.

"Good old Anne's," Wilkins grinned cheerfully. "The best damn cook in the South."

"I second that." Bordon finally placed the cap on his empty canteen and tucked it away behind him. "You must be excited, Will."

"Oh, I'm overjoyed," Tavington muttered sarcastically. "I'd be even more so if we were on the right damn trail and approaching Middleton Place." They trotted by two young girls, playing on the edge of the path. Both were slightly dusty from their play and stared up at the officers with awe.

The elder girl tugged at the younger girl's hand with a smile. "Look Abby, officers!"

"Horses," Abby whispered, tugging at a strand of her blonde hair as she clutched at her doll. "Daddy and Pat? They're home, Mary?"

"No, Abby." Mary, the elder girl, wrapped her arm protectively around her younger sister's shoulders. "Remember, Daddy or Patrick aren't coming back." She couldn't have been more than eight years old herself. "Ever."

* * *

Tavington coaxed his horse into a halt several feet back from the front porch. A middle-aged field hand approached and Tavington offered him the reins once he dismounted.

"Good day, sirs," the field hand nodded respectfully. "You all go on in, now. Miss Anne's up and about in the parlor."

Borden and Wilkins dismounted as well, tethering their horses to a tree until they could be attended to by the field hand. They followed Tavington up onto the porch slowly.

"It hasn't changed at all," Wilkins stated casually. "Just as I remember it." He glanced over his shoulder and watched as the two young girls kept their distance but continued in the same direction he was heading in. "I suppose those are two of Anne's grandchildren."

Tavington glanced back and shook his head. "I wouldn't know." He turned the corner and sharply collided with a young girl of thirteen. The force of the impact sent her sprawling backwards into her older brother. Both children had come around front once they had seen the officers approaching.

"I'm so sorry, sir," the girl apologized. She stepped back slightly with a small curtsy and her brother protectively linked his arm with hers. "I didn't see you there."

"My mistake, Miss. Might I have your name?" He practically sighed out of frustration and held back a scowl when he saw the girl visibly trembling against her brother. He appeared to have that affect on everyone.

She curtsied politely with a small smile. "Elizabeth Wilson, sir, and this is my brother, James Wilson."

"Yes, how do you do. I'm Colonel William Tavington of the Green Dragoons and I'm looking for your grandmother, Lady Anne Wilson. Might you kindly direct me towards her?"

"She's in the parlor, sir," Elizabeth told him. "I'm afraid she's not feeling very well today. This way, gentleman." Tavington and Bordon followed Elizabeth briskly down the hall, but Wilkins remained behind with James.

He smiled warmly at James and motioned to the doorway. Unlike his counterpart, Colonel Tavington, Captain Wilkins didn't believe in intimidating anything and everyone in his path. In fact, he believed in treating everything respectfully unless proven otherwise. Perhaps it was a side that fatherhood had brought out in him, as his first child was quickly approaching her second birthday.

"Are those your sisters?" he questioned lively. The two young girls had now reached the porch and were standing around, uncertain of what to do.

James nodded. At seventeen years of age, his height and build certainly matched Captain Wilkins, and it easily assumed that he was now the 'man of the house'. "Yes. The older one is Mary. She's eight years of age. The youngest is Abigail, but you better call her Abby, or she'll have your head for it," he joked. Wilkins laughed as the littlest girl smiled shyly at him. "She's four years of age, sir."

"Beautiful girls," he complimented. "I'd like to excuse the Colonel's behavior. I say he almost scared the daylights out of your sister. I do apologize."

"Thank you," James accepted sincerely. "Beth tends to get a little jumpy like that sometimes."

"Well, Colonel Tavington is certainly intimidating," Wilkins explained. "But again, my apologies. He doesn't seem to realize it."

* * *

Beth casually opened the door to the parlor with shaking hands. "Grandmother, you have visitors." She curtsied and left the room as soon as possibly, making sure to avoid any contact with the Colonel.

Anne Wilson studiously glanced from the plush chair she was sitting in, adjacent to the empty fireplace. Although an elderly woman in her early seventies, she wasted no time at greeting the two officers that had interrupted her reading time. She rose slowly out of her chair and rested herself on her wooden cane.

"William Tavington, I don't believe I have the pleasure," she admonished sarcastically. "The cornfields have been waiting."

The pun about their first meeting drew a small smile to the Colonel's lips. "Yes well, I believe I've learned how to hold my tongue since then."

She smiled warmly and motioned for the gentleman to sit. "How so?"

"By inflicting the fear of God into his men, madam," Captain Bordon cheerily grinned.

"My, my, and John Bordon as well. To what do I owe the pleasure of having two handsome gentleman in my humble home this afternoon?"

Tavington took a seat adjacent from Anne in a matching chair, with Bordon seated to Anne's left. "We were just passing through, Mrs. Wilson, and seemed to have gotten a bit turned around."

"That and Captain Wilkins seemed to jump at the chance to have a fine cooked meal."

Anne gave a small laugh and set the book on the settee. "I'd say it's about time that you boys paid me a visit."

"Yes indeed," Bordon agreed.

Captain Wilkins entered the room then and bowed respectfully to Mrs. Wilson, holding his plumed black helmet in his arm. "Good day, Mrs. Wilson."

"James Wilkins! It's just the other day I saw that pretty wife of yours!" Anne smiled at him gently as he took a seat adjacent to Colonel Tavington. "And that daughter of yours as well! My, she's certainly getting more beautiful by the day. Lovely child."

"Thank you," Wilkins smiled. "Your grandchildren are quite lovely themselves."

Anne nodded in silent agreement. "As you can see, the predicament I've found myself in is not a favorable one. Although I love my grandchildren dearly, I'm quite sickly myself and mostly likely won't remain on this earth much longer. Their father left me in quite a state, might I add. I never approved of his ways, but I believe fighting in that rebel militia left me in shock, and then going off and dying on his remaining children! Absolutely terrible. He was my son and I loved him dearly, but he did have his faults. It's a good thing his father isn't around to see what this land has come to." Anne's attention was drawn to the maid that had just entered the room. She was a young girl in her mid twenties, with golden blonde hair pinned up stylishly. "Maddie, please have Meg join me down here in the parlor. I think the company will do her good. Oh, and a tray of tea would be quite appropriate as well."

"Yes Miss." Maddie nodded and quickly exited the room, careful not to disrupt the officers any further.

"Meg, madam?" Bordon questioned.

"Miss Margaret Anne Wilson, daughter of my late son, Charles Wilson. He passed on just this past winter and my granddaughter has been staying with her mother's sister in London. She's come to stay with me now. For how long, I do not know. I expect that she'll return to England before the year is out. She loves it dearly there."

Tavington and Bordon shared a look of silent agreement. Although both did indeed love England, they found themselves growing quite fond of South Carolina.

* * *

Margaret Wilson sifted through her large trunk impatiently. She hadn't even been in the colony of South Carolina for a week and already her favorite navy blue gown had gone missing. It had been a present from her father in regards to her twentieth birthday, and with some luck, she wished to find it before her twenty-first, which was quickly approaching. July was only a month away.

With her trunk now in disarray, Margaret's futile attempts at locating the dress were washed away at the sound of a knock on the door. She jumped slightly and cleared her throat.

"Come in," she ordered softly. Rising to her feet, she managed a small but forced smile when Maddie presented herself.

"Good afternoon, Miss Meg," Maddie smiled, remembering her mistress' preferred nickname. "Your grandmother requests your presence in the downstairs parlor. Some British officers are paying her a visit. She believes it would suit you."

Meg sighed and began rearranging her trunk. "No, I'm afraid I cannot."

"But Miss—"

"Tell my grandmother that I am ill with a terrible headache. Maddie, I do not wish to socialize with British officers and watch as she attempts to match me with every good looking gentleman in South Carolina," Meg stated coldly. "Colonial or English."

The two women were interrupted as Beth threw herself into the bedroom, visibly out of breath.

"Meg, don't go down there! He's terrible, ghastly! They call him 'The Butcher'!" Beth whispered hurriedly, trying to stall her elder cousin the best she could. "He's horrible. His name is Colonel William Tavington. He almost ran me over!"

"Elizabeth Catherine, how can you speak of such a man when you hardly know him yourself!" Meg admonished. "Mind your tongue. " She smiled slightly and planted a kiss on her younger cousin's forehead. "I hardly doubt he's that terrible."

"You _aren't _going to go down there, are you?" Beth rested herself in the tall, oak chair set by one of the two windows that overlooked the back of her grandmother's property. "Please don't. James doesn't want you to either."

Meg sighed and smoothed down the skirts of her dress. "Well, now you have me curious as to how this Colonel portrays himself. I might just **have** to go down there," she teased.

Beth's eyes went wide, but then she simply smirked. "He is quite handsome, although he seems very mischievous. But Bobby Peterson already has his sights set on you, remember? Oh how jealous he will be when he finds out that you've set your sights on a Colonel of the Dragoons!"

Maddie stifled a laugh, as did Meg. "That'll be enough, thank you," Meg told her softly. "I haven't set my sights on either Bobby, this infamous Colonel, or anyone, for that matter."

"What a bother you are!" Beth sighed. "You're going to be a right old maid."

Meg laughed and adjusted the cap in her dark brown hair. "I've only been here for a week! You can't expect me to go off and marry the minute I stepped off the ship that brought me here. Perhaps I'd rather marry in England."

"No wonder Grandmother wishes to set you up so." Beth gathered herself out of the chair and took his cousin's hand lightly in her own. She dragged her over to the small mirror and smiled. "Look in the mirror, tell me what you see?"

Maddie cleared her throat. "Pardon me for interrupting, Miss Meg, but will your grandmother be expecting you in the parlor?"

Meg sighed, both at her cousin's charades and the indifference towards the situation. In reality, she wanted nothing better than to spend the rest of the afternoon on the back porch, curled up with a good book. Anything but socializing with her dear grandmother and a slew of English gentleman. "I suppose. You may tell her that I'll be down in a moment, Maddie. Thank you."

Maddie curtsied and gave a polite smile as she left the bedroom. Beth clapped her hands together and shook her head. "Come on, Meg, tell me what you see!"

"I see an old maid," Meg taunted her, staring at the reflection. "Isn't that what you just told me?"

"No!" Beth protested. "I see a beautiful young _English _woman who is about to charm the daylights out of the officers downstairs."

"Hah, do you now?" Meg laughed softly. "I believe you've been reading too many fairytales. I'm nothing special to look at."

Beth's petite mouth fell open in shock. "How can you say that? You're spectacular." She eyed her cousin's lavish pale blue dress, no doubt of the latest London fashion. It was far better than any of the colonial fashions, and indeed made Meg stick out from the rest. Her cousin's hazel eyes and dark brown hair really added to the elegance, although Beth knew she would have a hard time convincing Meg so.

"Spectacular or not, I have no intentions to charm any of said officers," Meg stated. "It's not appropriate. I'm still in mourning."

"Well if you're not wearing black any longer you can certainly—"

"Beth, that's enough. And please, don't repeat anything rash about the British soldiers, including that Colonel, to anyone. I'm sure they are already painfully aware of the situation with your father, and don't need any further antagonizing."

"Of course, Meg," Beth sighed. "But I **was** only warning you."

"You don't have to look out for me," Meg promised her spunky cousin. "I can take care of myself."

"Well I know that," Beth replied matter of factly. "Please be careful. James tells me he's a dangerous man and he's done many terrible things to people."

Meg nodded as she smoothed down her skirts in a final attempt to make herself presentable. "I'll be careful. It's only tea, after all. Don't **you** worry. They're English gentleman, and I'm sure they have manners."

But once Meg left the safety of her bedroom, something about her younger cousin's words haunted her ears. However, it wasn't until she had entered the parlor of her grandmother's home that she understood exactly why her younger cousin had become so unnerved by the handsome, yet intriguing Colonel William Tavington.

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Reviews are most appreciated.


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